


Four Shillings

by fajrdrako



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 13:50:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13548660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fajrdrako/pseuds/fajrdrako
Summary: Who owes what to whom?





	Four Shillings

Edrington anger was fading under the onslaught of a cold wind from the Thames. The air smelled foul, of rubbish and dead fish and the sour reek of the prison hulks. He was tempted to go somewhere else, but he had thought this was a good place for a whore to ply his trade, and he didn’t know where else to go. There was a pub, full of noise and laughter and warmth, but he had already been thrown out and didn’t want to try his luck again. People without any money were not welcome there.

He was not accustomed to being without money, and the novel sensation made him feel like another man in his own body. That, and the oddly exciting knowledge that he was a whore now, about to sell himself for money to some passerby, and that this would mark a change in his life that nothing could ever erase. 

Fantasizing about who might buy him diverted him from the cold, and the empty feeling in his stomach that he did not want to think about. A rich old gentleman, who would be kind. A tough sailor, who would be rough. A married man, escaping responsibility for a few hours. A clergyman with a guilty need.

He shivered, despite the fantasies. It was dark, now, and the lamps at the pub, and at the inn across the way, didn’t illuminate the street as far as the spot he was standing. He moved a little closer to the source of light, to be more visible. Who would buy his body if they couldn’t see it?

Not that many people paid attention. One man started rather hard at him, but when he moved forward to speak, the man rushed off, uninterested in his proposal. A dog came to bark at him, then wandered away after more interesting prey. Edrington shivered. He stomped his feet, then realized that foot-stomping was not enhancing the suave, erotic figure he wanted to cut. Neither was shivering.

Near to the docks like this, there ought to be sailors. Sailors were notorious whore-mongers, everyone knew that, didn’t care whether it was men or women as long as it was a warm body. Everyone knew that, didn’t they?

So where were the sailors?

Eating in the pub, perhaps, with the singing and the music and the warm fire.

It wasn’t that Edrington envied them. He scorned them for seeking their comfort, with so little notion of the real suffering in the world around them. Sniffing, he rubbed his arms, then noticed a party of men approaching.

They had a lamp. They did not ignore him, as others had done. The man in the lead held up his light and said, “What have we here?”

Edrington flashed him a smile.

“A pretty one,” said the man beside the first. They were large, florid men who had been drinking. Sailors? Possibly; but they could equally have been dockhands, labourers, sportsmen or the city watch. Edrington tilted his head. Five of them. Were they going to buy his services? Five of them at once? Surely not.

They circled around him. Five of them, all large men. He smiled at the one who had called him pretty and said, “Interested?”

One of them laughed. Another said, perfectly serious, “What’re you selling, ducky?”

“What’re you buying?” shot back Edrington. There was some laughter, scuffling. The shadows moved as the man with the lamp moved behind one of his friends.

“A lively chicken, it looks like,” said the first speaker. “How much, curlytop?”

“Three shillings,” said Edrington promptly. He had worked it out carefully, knowing that according to Paul Hetherington, Lucy Lou charged two shillings sixpence a time, and she wasn’t as young as she used to be, and not exactly a virgin either. Edrington didn’t think he could pass himself off as a virgin either, though he’d considered trying it, and might still if these gentlemen asked the right kinds of questions. 

There was more laughter and nudging of each other. “Three shillings?” said the one with a lamp.

“Each,” said Edrington. 

That was when the closest one hit him. Taken by surprise, he landed full out on the cobblestones. Trying to move, he was kicked in the ribs. He tried to fight back, but there were five of them, and they wouldn’t let him get up. He screamed with fury and tried to trip one of them by grabbing his leg, but they were kicking him with too much force, and he lost breath and the power of thought. Their boots hit his ribs and, when he tried to twist away, the painful spots on his already-abused back. He cried out again, wishing he had his sword, or a knife, or his best set of shooting-pistols, but of course he had left all that behind.

Another voice joined the cacophony around him. “What’s this?”

Edrington heard something about a dirty whore-boy, and a snicker. He could see a boot about to connect with his face, but had neither the strength nor the wit to prevent it. Before it could hit, the kicker was thrown himself, flat against the building behind them, with a sickening thud. The newcomer, the man with shiny boots, was standing then between him and the rest of the men.

“Clear off,” he shouted, in a voice so commanding that it reminded Edrington, just for a moment, of his Uncle Fred.

Instead of obeying, one of the men tried to hit Edrington’s protector. He was thrown in the street, and the stranger was fighting the others singlehanded, moving so fast Edrington could hardly follow his movements in the moving lamplight. A blow here, a kick there, arms and feet combining offense and defense and lightning avoidance.

Then suddenly the light was gone, disappearing down the street, and five men with it. He was alone with the stranger, who said to him gruffly, “Are you all right?”

“I think so.” He took a deep breath, and tried to get up. The bones seemed to be in working order. His back hurt like hell, but he wasn’t going to admit it.

The stranger held out a hand, and pulled him up when Edrington gratefully accepted it. Despite the cool air, he was not wearing gloves. His hand was warm and dry, its touch absurdly comforting.

The stranger looked at him thoughtfully. Edrington met his stare with wide-eyed candour. He was breathing quickly still, but then, so was the stranger. 

The stranger: as tall as Edrington, and lean, dressed in dark coat, breeches and riding boots, all well-made but anonymous: it was impossible to tell from clothing or style what manner of man he was. He was perhaps five or ten years older than Edrington, mid-twenties, surely no more, with kind and pensive eyes that mesmerized Edrington. Under his hat Edrington thought he could see a quantity of rich, dark hair, natural and unpowdered. He was handsome, and more than handsome, and though Edrington could hardly analyze what that ‘more’ could be, he felt his heart beat quicker. He said, “You took some risk to save me from those men. I thank you, sir.”

“I don’t like seeing five men attack one. What are you doing here? It is a cool night.”

“Selling myself,” said Edrington smoothly. He smiled his most engaging smile. “Interested?”

“I might be,” said the stranger, equally smoothly. “How much?”

“Four shillings,” said Edrington quickly.

“You told our friend with the lamp three shillings.”

So he had heard that. “Four shillings for the night. Three for a charity case - I felt sorry for him, he was so ugly.”

He got something that might have been a laugh, but he wasn’t sure. The man said, “Have you eaten today?”

“Of course I have.”

“What? When?”

Edrington opened his mouth, but couldn’t think of a quick enough lie.

“I’ll buy you dinner,” offered the gentleman. “We can negotiate the price for the rest.”

Edrington hesitated.

“Have you anything to lose?” asked the stranger.

“Can’t think what,” said Edrington. “I had a date with the Prince of Wales, but he seems to be delayed. It would be a pleasure to join you for dinner, sir.”

“What is your name?”

“Dick. Dick Smith.”

There was a long pause. “What is your real name?” asked the stranger. He spoke gently, but there was steel in his voice.

“Richard Smith,” lied Edrington, setting his chin proudly. “But you can call me Dick. What can I call you?”

“Under the circumstances,” said the man with the handsome hat, “you can call me Edward.”

Edrington was shivering again when they got to the pub across the way. Edward put a hand on his back to push him through the door, and he went in, rather too quickly. The pubkeeper glanced his way, scowled, saw he was with the gentleman, and proceeded to ignore him. They sat at an empty table, and Edward removed his hat.

In a room rosy with the glow of firelight and lamps and candles hanging from the ceiling, Edward’s curly auburn hair was beautiful in its profusion, tied back at the nape of his neck, but still bountiful. His eyebrows were straight; his mouth wide and expressive. “Dick?” he said.

A woman brought them stew and ale and a loaf of bread. Edward gave her a smile and a few pleasant words as he paid her. She left them, and he and picked up his spoon. He hesitated a moment, murmured something to himself, and looked at Edrington. “You are not eating?”

Edrington dropped his eyes. “I was waiting for you to go first.”

Edward took a spoonful. “You are not hungry?”

“I might be.” Edrington took a spoonful of soup. Thick, hot and rich, it was almost more than he could stand. He put the spoon down.

“Did they hurt you?” asked Edward.

“Not much. A few bruises. No more, thanks to you.” He shifted in his seat. The warmth in the room comforted him, took away some of his tension, but he knew he was still not thinking clearly. The thought of Edward, fearlessly attacking six large men for his sake. He desperately wanted Edward and it had nothing to do with three shillings, or four shillings, or whatever he had said.

“What’s wrong?” asked Edward.

“Nothing,” said Edrington. He took another spoonful of soup. His hand had stopped trembling, but he wanted - desperately wanted - to reach out and touch Edward.

“What is it, Dick? You can say it.”

“I just....” Dick felt tongue-tied. “I want you to want me.”

He had put it badly. Edward said, “How old are you?”

“Old enough.”

“Evasive! I know you are old enough. How old is - enough?”

Edrington felt out of his depth. As a businesslike whore, his inclination was to put his age lower than fact, since he had heard that men preferred youth. Somehow he thought this might not be the best tactic with Edward, so he said, “Sir? Are you a magistrate?”

“Why? Do you think I might take you in as a runaway?”

Edrington tied to hide his alarm with a glance of mild amusement. “I imagine most men in my position are runaways, one way or another. You avoided my question.”

“No more than you avoided mine. No, I am not a magistrate, though I have acted the role once or twice.”

“You’re an actor?” said Edrington, startled, because it was so far from what he expected. 

Edward smiled at the thought. “Actor? Not at all. What I meant was, I serve the King in an official capacity. Sometimes I am called upon to act as a magistrate might act. You ran away from school, didn’t you?”

“No,” said Edrington, but he said it too quickly and too firmly. When Edward smiled as if his guess were confirmed, Edrington knew he was flushing. He was too full of feelings. He couldn’t think straight, and it wasn’t now anything to do with the nature of the occasion, his first night as a whore. The anger and fear were behind him. His head was swimming with desire for Edward, handsome and courageous, who sat so close to him at their table, where the stew smelled so good that it was a shame he had an appetite for nothing but Edward. It was only the matter of a few inches, to reach out and touch Edward’s leg. He swallowed.

“I would not force you back to school,” said Edward, with a sip of ale. “I ran away from school myself, to escape a thrashing.”

Edrington looked darkly at him. “That was not why I ran, and I did not escape the thrashing.” His hand found Edward’s knee. He could feel the warmth of the leg through the breeches. Muscles.... oh God, was the man a runner? A wrestler? Surely an athlete of some sort?

“Stop,” said Edward, again in the commanding voice, though low in tone. Edrington removed his hand, but continued to hold Edward’s eyes with his own. He wondered if Edward’s cock was as hard as his own, and if not, what he could do to get it that way. He licked his lips, thinking. He had expected that men would approach him, not the other way about. If he had thought of the need to seduce, it was, in the desperate rationale of his imagination, easier than this. This was not like wooing the boys at school, who had been easy, and playing the same game he was - if they played at all. This was very much a man, with ideas of his own. Edrington wished he knew what they were.

He wished that Edward burned for him as he burned for Edward. He shifted in his chair and whispered, “Why?”

“You have not finished your stew.”

He did not look at his bowl. “I am not hungry for stew.”

The silence between them lengthened. Edrington leaned forward and touched Edward’s face. The gentle touch jolted his senses, the feel of Edward’s skin exciting him further, just because it was Edward. The man who had saved him. The man who was looking at him now with those dark, enigmatic eyes, as he gripped Edrington’s wrist and moved his hand and arm back to the table.

He said, “Four shillings?”

“Three, if you like,” said Edrington. He dropped his eyes. He wanted to say: for you, I’d do it for free. For you, I’d pay. It wasn’t that he wasn’t serious about the whoring, but he wanted nothing now but Edward’s touch.

“Another charity case?” asked Edward drily. He must have seen the flash of shock and then amusement in Edrington’s eyes, for he smiled then, himself, and reaching out, flicked Edrington’s cheek with one finger. “You sell yourself short.”

Edrington said breathlessly, “I want you to take me so badly, I do not know what to say. Please, sir. I would make it good for you. I will make it good. You will see. Let me show you.”

“Very well.” Edward rose from the table. He had finished the pint of ale, but not the bowl of stew. “Come, then.”

They walked into the night. It did not seem so cold, now. “This way,” said Edward.

Fit thought he was, Edrington found himself breathless in keeping up with the man, but they did not have far to go. Edward’s lodgings were at one of the hostelries that Edrington had eyed from his place on the street. It was a respectable establishment, but did nothing to help Edrington guess what Edward’s station or calling might be. They went up the stairs, Edward in the lead, and Edrington stared shamelessly at the strong legs before him, speculating on the physique under the tailored coat. When they reached the door where Edward was fitting a key from his pocket, Edrington wanted to reach under his coat and fondle his buttocks. Soon, soon.

Edward held the door and Edrington walked in first. It was one of the larger, more well-apportioned rooms, already prepared by the servants, so that the lamps were lit and the fire in the fireplace made the room cosy and comfortable, despite its size and the cold breeze outside. No doubt the curtained bed was prepared with a warming-pan, and Edrington thought he caught a whiff of lavender.

He turned, in the middle of the room, to watch as Edward shut the door behind him, and locked it with the key before putting it back in his pocket. He turned then, to look at Edrington. He paused, then removed his coat, and hung it on a peg by the door. Underneath his outer coat he wore a finely-tailored, undecorated brown coat, a linen shirt with a high neckcloth, and a simply-tailored waistcoat. He looked like some of the teachers at Eton. He looked like some of the members of Boards of Trade, stuffy city officials, judges and lawyers of the type that Uncle Fred employed, though no boring businessman ever had such muscles. Edrington had a sudden irrational fear that this man of such calm authority didn’t want his body; that he was a spy of his uncle’s, sent to kidnap him and bring him home by force.

The Edward turned to him again, his back to the door, and Edrington saw the heavy bulge in his trousers and knew he was all right.

He threw himself into Edward’s arms, kissing him without restraint, thrilling to the taste of his mouth, warm and open against Edrington’s. He wound his leg around Edward’s, and it was clear he had not mistaken the hardness of his muscles or the magnificent hardness of his erection. He pressed against the body, heady with Edward’s touch and taste.

Edward’s hand roamed over Edrington’s chest. Edrington threw off his coat, tossing it to the floor. Edward began unbuttoning his waistcoat, and Edrington helped him, only occasionally hampering him by pressing close to kiss his neck or lips.

The last buttons had just been reached as Edward’s hands moved to Edrington’s waistband, untying and unfastening his breeches. Edrington dropped the waistcoat and pulled his shirt over his head, and tossing it aside wherever it might fall. Edward’s fingers trailed down his back like a dose of cool water over the sensitive skin. Edrington’s hand cupped Edward’s crotch, and Edward growled, “To the bed.”

Edrington ignored him, nibbling at an ear, profuse dark curls tickling his face. He found himself lifted in strong hands, carried in a sure grip to the bed, and dropped onto the soft mattress. He laughed, reaching for Edward, who stood looking down at him, an odd expression on his face. Tenderness? Amusement? Lust?

If it wasn’t the latter, it could be made to be so. Edrington squirmed so that his trousers, already halfway down his hips, fell to his thighs. He saw with triumph the way Edward’s eyes caressed him, the way his expression changed. Then Edward dropped to his knees beside the bed, and took Edrington’s cock in a large, warm hand and wrapped his fingers around it. His fingers tightened.

With the lightest of movements, Edrington climaxed. He arched, gasping, eyes wide, mouth open, letting it take him to the heights. Edward watched him thoughtfully.

The soft warmth of the bed enwrapped Edrington, along with the hard warmth of Edward’s hand on his wet, soft cock. Edward rubbed his palm over Edrington’s belly, watching his hand, watching the trail he made on Edrington’s skin. He dipped his head and kissed his naval.

Edrington tried to gather his wits. He must be mad: he had thrown his life away, he was penniless, homeless, in pain and in fear, and all he could do was lie there suffused in bliss, naked to the knees and shameless. Who was servicing whom? He said, “Sir, what may I do for you?”

Edward glanced at his face. His mouth curved in not quite a smile. “Bathe. I have bath water drawn in the next room.”

“But you have not been satisfied.”

“I have waited all my life for you. I can wait a few moments longer.” Before Edrington could ask him what he meant, he stood, holding out his hand. “Come, now.”

“But - ”

“Have your forgotten that you were thrown in the mud in the street? You have a steak of dirt across your nose, and I’ll wager you slept in someone’s barn last night. To the bath with you, or I will not touch you again.”

“You strike a hard bargain,” said Edrington, pulling his breeches down..

“I am a hard man,” said Edward. But he had lied: he did touch Edrington again, helping him to pull off his shoes and stockings, his fingers caressing his calf as he did so.

Edrington rose naked from the bed, smiling.

He was steered by the shoulders into the adjoining room. The bath, though tepid rather than warm, was large enough, and accounted for the aroma of lavender. He stepped into the water and smiled at Edward. “May I wash you?”

“You may.” Edward was removing his neckcloth. Edrington moved to come to help him, but Edward stopped him by raising one hand. “No! Soak for a moment while I undress.”

Edrington sunk into the pleasant water. “I will watch.”

“As you wish.”

"I wish to very much.” Edrington put his hand on the edge of the bath-basin, and rested his chin on his hand. “I want to feast my eyes on you.”

Edward grunted, pulling his shirt over his head. Edrington watched as he turned and removed the breeches, staring in delight at the beautiful arse, the legs, the cock, still hard but not, Edrington tought, as hard as he was going to make it as soon as he had the chance. He folded each piece of clothing and put it on the shelf, his back arching gracefully with the movement of muscles as he reached upwards.

“Join me,” said Edrington.

Edward came to the tub and stood looking at him for a moment, his face expressionless. He stepped into the water, and Edrington held out his arms for him.

They fit, after a fashion. They fit closely, so that as they soaped each other, their bodies pressed close, slippery with water and suds raised by their hands. Edrington kissed Edward’s soapy fingers and made a face at the taste. Edward silently stroked Edrington’s curls, washed his face with gentle fingers, stroked his body under the water.

“Untie your hair,” said Edrington softly.

Edward loosed the tie, and let it fall to the floor. His hair in profusion over his shoulders was as beautiful as Edrington expected. He whispered, “Magnifico,” and took a lock in his fingers to kiss it.

Edward then ducked his head under the water, raising it so that it splashed like a sheepdog in the rain. Edrington laughed, wrapping his legs around Edward’s waist, which brought his chin to the level of the water. “Fuck me,” he said.

“Soon.”

“Very soon?” He kissed Edward’s knee, which was near his shoulder.

“Soon enough. Don’t be greedy.”

Edrington touched Edward’s cock under the water, letting his fingers play along its length. “You tempt me with this. Greedy? There is enough here to satisfy ten of me. My arse is begging for you, Edward..”

Edward’s eyes darkened. “Very well,” he said, and rose from the tub. Stepping out, he took a towel, and rubbed it over his hair.

Edrington took another towel, following him. Folded and hung by the hearth, the towels were as warm and soft as those in Uncle Fred’s house, though not as large. He began to dry Edward from the feet up, kissing the skin as he died it: shin, knee, thigh - he found an old scar mid-thigh, and traced it with his tongue. Groin - he dried the hair most carefully, and his arse too, but took care not to touch the cock, which was red and reaching for him. He tried the small of Edward’s back, and his chest, running fingers around and over the wet nipples before dabbing them with the towel. “Centurion,” he whispered.

“What?” said Edward, startled out of a reverie of his own.

“You look like a Gladiator, all muscle and form. Like a beautiful statue.” He kissed Edward’s shoulders, enjoying the feel of the wet hair against his cheek.

“I am no Roman,” said Edward.

“Then let me make you into a pagan,” said Edrington. He was still wet himself, but it didn’t matter. This time he took the lead, bringing Edward into the other room, climbing on the bed on his knees to pull Edward gently into it, after him. Their legs entwined. Edward ran his hands over Edrington’s damp skin. He said softly, “Who has beaten you?”

Edrington dropped his eyes. “What?”

“Someone has caned you, and recently.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Edrington kissed his lips. “We have other things to think of right now.” His fingers played with Edward’s foreskin, pulling it back. “Like fucking. Will you fuck me now, Edward?”

Something odd flickered in Edward’s expression. “I will,” he said.

Edrington bent over him to kiss his cock and touch its head with his tongue, teasing the hole. Anticipation was making him tremble. Edward said, “Forgive me if I am clumsy. I have never done this before.”

Edrington glanced up at him. “Never had a whore?”

“Never had a man. Or a whore either, come to that.” He smiled ruefully. “A lifetime of respectability, destroyed in a moment by one glance from you. You can be proud.”

“I am honoured,” said Edrington. He sat up. Edward put a hand on his hip, and he looked at it, fascinated again by the flexibility and strength of that hand, lightly calloused. No, Edward was no bookkeeper. The mystery of his identity was exciting, just as his body was. Edrington slowly licked one of his nipples, then rolled gracefully onto his stomach.

Edward stared thoughtfully at him. Edrington glanced over his shoulder, grinning. “Well?”

“Oil,” said Edward. He went to a shelf and came back, while Edrington stared at the muscles of his legs and back as he moved; at his legs and torso as he returned to the bed. “Stay as you are,” he said, and began to smooth the lotion, not on his arse as Edrington expected, but on the sore, red marks on his back. Had they been brightened with soaking? Edrington twisted his neck, trying to see, but his attention was caught by Edward’s face, looking down at him as he lightly trailed the oil over the lines of his back, and down to his buttocks.

“It’s all right,” said Edrington. He was afraid that compassion would overcome lust, that Edward would be afraid to do this. With a whimper, Edrington pulled his knees under him, thrusting up his buttocks, and Edward’s fingers strayed at last to his hole and into it, stretching gently. Like all Edward’s acts, it was careful and deliberate “Yes!”

Edward’s arm came around his waist, hand touching his cock, which had gone hard again in anticipation. “Edward!”

Edward pressed into him, with a hiss of breath. Edrington took a deep breath at the sensations he so loved: the nudge of pain, the response of muscles, the tantalising friction. He pressed his hand over Edward’s on his own softening cock and said, “Yes,” again, this time on a hiss of breath, as Edward thrust, not fast enough, not hard enough, but enough to make Edrington’s stomach quiver in anticipation. He lifted Edward’s hand to his mouth to suck on his fingers, his voice muffled as he cried out in reaction to the sensations within him.

He loved it, every time. But this was not every time. This was Edward doing this to him, turning his body to jelly, bringing on waves of pleasure that were deeper and stronger than ever. He cried out again and this time Edward’s hand stifled the sound, and Edrington found himself climaxing again, inside and outside both, and it was like being tossed on heavy seas,a nd wrapped in warm darkness.

When he could think again, he was held in Edward’s arms. Edward’s finger ran down his cheek, and he realized slowly that it was following a tear. “You are weeping,” said Edward.

“It is love,” said Edrington. Then, remembering, he flushed. “I’m sorry. I have no right.”

Edward raised his eyebrows. “What, no right to feel? Or no right to say it? Who has disenfranchised you?”

“Myself,” said Edrington tightly. “A whore has no right.”

He was pulled into the warm embrace again, his face against Edward’s warm neck, that luxury of damp hair on his shoulders, gentle hands stroking him. Edward spoke with a soft, low voice against his ear. “You are no whore.”

He wept then, unable to stop, unable to control himself. The shame was fearful. Edward held him, murmuring something, stroking his hair.

The weeping stopped as abruptly as it started. Edrington wiped his nose and said, “I am a whore. Why else am I here? But you are right. I cannot take your four shillings.”

“You have earned them,” said Edward. “Why not?”

Edrington turned his face away. “You saved my life. It would be dishonourable.”

Edward’s fingers played over the skin of his shoulder. “What does a whore know about honour?”

Edrington looked at him sharply, but Edward was smiling so fondly that Edrington lost his voice and said nothing.

“You can pretend,” said Edward. “You can learn. But truly, Dick, you are not a whore.”

“My name is not Dick.”

“I know. It doesn’t matter.”

“I am a whore.”

“Oh? How many men have you had - professionally?”

He was trapped, and knew it, just as Edward must know it. “You are my first.”

“Then you are no whore.”

“I am good for nothing else,” said Edrington bitterly.

“Ah. Who said so?”

“No one who matters.”

Edward did not reply. His gentle fingers on Edrington’s arm should have relaxed him, but instead he found himself growing restless. He said defiantly, “All that is behind me.”

“You have a new life now.”

“Yes!”

“Better than your old one?”

“I will be free.”

Edward kissed the wrist he was holding to his mouth. “Free from hunger?” he asked gently. “Free from fear?”

Edrington snatched his arm away, then regretted it. He dropped his head on Edward’s shoulder, enjoying the smell of his skin. “Free from my uncle.”

“Is he the one who whipped you?”

“What he did to me was nothing!” Edrington sat up. “Have you ever seen a man flogged?”

“I have,” said Edward.

“So have I,” said Edrington bitterly. “And it was my fault. They might have killed him. They cut him down, and he lay in the dirt, and my uncle told him to get up. He looked at my uncle and laughed. He was supposed to be contrite, you see. He was being punished for fucking me. He was meant to beg forgiveness but instead he laughed. He laughed and he said, ‘It was worth it. Your nephew’s sweet arse was worth it.’”

Edrington stopped, his eyes squeezed shut, the memory painfully clear.

“When?” said Edward.

“Yesterday... the day before yesterday. What he said angered my uncle so much - he must have known it would - it angered him so much that he grabbed the whip from his steward and started hitting Alec with it himself, and would have killed, except my mother pulled him off. That was when I ran. He would have killed Alec, and all because of me.”

“It would seem,” said Edward softly, “that passion and wilfulness run in your family.”

“What?”

“So Alec was your lover?”  
“Not exactly. He worked for my uncle, in the stables. I’d just met him. I liked him. I liked the way he was with the horses. So I....”

“You propositioned him?”

“Not exactly. I let him fuck me.”

“And your uncle caught you?”

Edrington nodded. “Stupid,” he said. “So stupid.” He lay back down on the bed.

Edward lay on his side, his head propped on his hand. “I take it this wasn’t your first time.”

“First time doing it? Good Lord, no.” The memory of his uncle’s insults came back, making him flush. “I’ve been doing it for a long time.”

“With stable hands?”

“What? No, of course not. With friends.”

“At Eton?”

“Yes.” Edrington’s breath caught. “How did you know what school I went to?”  
“  
Your vowels. Your intonation.” Edward touched the side of Edrington’s mouth as he continued to stare. “Don’t look like that. I am not a magician.”

“No. Just a mind-reader.”

“Hardly. You were intimate with several boys at school?”

“Yes. I was careful not to be caught, but... someone must have caught wind of something.”

“You were careful - with how many boys?”

“I don’t know.” He glared at Edward. “Are you laughing at me?”

“No. I am terrified by you.” Edward took the sting from the words by kissing the base of Edrington’s throat. “Walking around loose like that, a danger to anyone who breathes. How many boys?”

“Five or six.”

“My God.”

“Seven, if you count Simon - you are laughing!”

“So are you. Why wouldn’t I count Simon?”

“We didn’t fuck. We just played about a little.”

“I see. Very well, we will not count Simon. Then?”

“They sent me home, for my uncle to have a talk with me. That was last week. He talked - my God, he talked. You’d think I was a witless ten-year-old.”

“I doubt it,” said Edward. “Most witless ten-year-olds do not do what you did, unless they are uncommonly precocious. Did you promise him you would be good in future?”

“I promised him I’d damn well do what I liked!”

“I can see,” said Edward, “that you are unlikely to make a career in diplomacy. So then Alec found you in the stables - or vice versa - and the game was up.”

“Yes.”

“Why did you run away?”

“They could have killed him.”

“Which would have made you feel guilty?” 

“Guilty? I was angry.”

“It was your fault that he was caught doing what he did. You knew the risks. I’m sure your uncle spelled it all out for you.”

“I hated him for it!”

“And yourself?”

“He had no right!”

“He had every right,” said Edward kindly. “In law, as your relative, as your protector. How old are you?”

“Too young. Too old. I don’t know,” said Edrington. He felt miserable.

“How old was Alec?”

“I don’t know.”

“Older than you? As old as me? He knew what he was doing too. He knew the risk. He thought you were worth it - before, during and afterwards. Don’t through your life away for him.”

Edrington felt the burn of tears on his eyelids again. He said, “Would you risk a flogging for me? Would you consider it worth it?”

“I have risked a flogging for you,” said Edward. “And considerably worse: I have risked hanging. Yes, it was worth it. Yes, I knew what I was doing. And yes, I would do it again, in the same circumstances.”

“Will you?” said Edrington, with an eagerness that suddenly embarrassed him. He held Edward’s gaze, his mouth tight. So Edward had seen what he felt. No surprise, surely.

“No. We cannot do it again.”

“Why not?”

“Because we have had our moment. We have our lives to live.”

“I have nothing,” said Edrington bleakly.

“I know. Whatever you had, you threw it away because you were angry with your uncle. So you will live as a dockside street-whore, and I will be....” his voice was dry: “...respectable again.”

“I may never see you again?”

“No.”

“But you... you liked my body?”

Edward’s hand curled around his, and he brought it to his lips. “I liked your body.”

“I liked yours.” Edrington knew he was making a mess of this, but he was too distressed to care, and he trusted Edward. Trusted him as he had never trusted before, in a life too marked with precocious cynicism. “Sir.... I think I have fallen in love with you.”

“Perhaps.” Edward looked weary, but did not avoid Edrington’s gaze. “A few months on the streets will cure you of that.”

“But....” said Edrington.

“But?”

“What can I do? I have no trade. I do not want to return to my uncle. Where am I to go?”

Edward did not answer.

“Where?” persisted Edrington, and this time, Edward shook his head.

“You are old enough to make your own life, good or bad. Clearly you would not let your uncle control or guide you. I can hardly do so. Work out for yourself what you want in life.”

“I want you,” said Edrington simply.

“You had me. We have both been lucky.”

“And that is to be all?”

“What more is there to have? Involvement with a whore would end my career and destroy my life - not to mention, if it continued, my self-respect. No, Dick. I will not buy your services again.”

“You could hire me.”

“I could? As what?”

“I have skills - beside the ones you have sampled. I could be your secretary.”

“I already have a secretary.”

“You valet, then.”

Edward took a deep breath. “You think a thoroughbred racer can pull a hay-cart? I could never take you to my home. My Lord. You would have the county in an uproar in a week. My brother would disown me.”

“You have a profession,” said Edrington. “...Though I cannot think what it is. Hire me to work with you.”

“Suppose it is something terrible.” Edward’s eyes sparkled. “Suppose it is something illegal?”

“It isn’t.”

“It could be.”

“No. Even if it were.... I would be with you.”

Edward traced the line of Edrington’s collarbone, then pulled him into his arms again. “I told you I had run away from school,” he said. “I was bold and lucky. I was given a place on a ship, as Captain’s servant. I am a post captain in His Majesty’s Navy, Dick, but even if I had a ship at present, which I do not, I could not take you with me on it or we would surely both hang.”

A sea captain. It explained much, including the strength and authority. “So what can I do?” asked Edrington.

“Grow up fast, one way or another. You are what - sixteen, seventeen? Learn to make your own decisions. Learn to know what you want, and understand the price to be paid for it.”

Edrington nodded. He let himself relax in Edward’s arms. Love. He had thought before he had found love, but it was a passing, childish fancy. It frightened him to the core to realise what he now had, and how ephemeral it would be.

He said softly, “Is there any way I can change things? Is there a way I make it possible to see you again?”

“Certainly,” said Edward promptly. “Make yourself a future, and not as a whore. That isn’t what you want - what you ought to be.”

“No,” said Edrington sadly. “I always wanted to be a soldier.”

“Well, then?”

“My uncle forbade it.”

“You don’t seem to have listened to him in other matters. If you could defy him in that, you can defy him in this. Or persuade him.”

“He said I was too weak to be a soldier.”

“Prove him wrong.”

“I can’t go back,” said Edrington, on a catch of laughter.

“You can.”

“No. I mean, I can’t afford to. Coach fare is four shillings.”

There was a long silence. Edward said, “I will give you four shillings, not as your client, but as a friend to a friend.... a lover to lover. You can repay me one day when you are leading armies.”

Edrington held him tight. “We will meet again?”

“I hope so,” said Edward.

Edrington was falling asleep, but there was one other thing he needed to say. “Edrington,” he said. “My real name is Edrington. Not Dick Smith. My uncle is the Earl.”

He felt Edward’s lips in his hair. “Pellew,” he said softly. “My name is Edward Pellew.”

Edrington fell asleep with his lover’s name warm in his mind.

\- end -


End file.
